sculpture

i want to know if i threw myself
like a comet to the bottom
of the ocean if the silt & 
the sediment could cover me
just right, like a body of 
the borealopelta dinosaur, 
tripping endlessly deeper into
our bottomless ocean. 
a miner found the fossil, 
deep in the throat of 
the millennium mine in alberta 
canada: skin & scales & all. 
the most preserved
of all dinosaurs. when he
encountered it, did he touch it
to see if it was still alive?
it's body a time-sculpture,
the fingers of a reptile god 
digging in the layers of rock
for dead animals to make 
into heavy pieces of art.
i think i would like all
that time to think, covered 
in quiet, feeling my own
body getting heavier, the surface
etching my body, a stone photograph.
i would write poetry in my head,
spinning un-catch-able words,
did the borealpelta do the same?
his language getting harder 
with each passing century.
did he write of his body?
of the fall to the bottom?
i want to curl up down
there with him, feel the ocean
gently peel away, leaving
us as objects to be discovered
by a miner, the colors of
our skin bleeding out, finding
their way to the autumn leaves
in some other area of the world.
the scientists will ask us
to open our mouths so they
can know what our last meals were.
both of us have stomachs 
full of stones. oatmeal too,
baby carrots & a silver spoon.
i go to the museum where you
lay, i open your mouth & crawl
inside your body. there's a whole
ocean in here full of green water
& stalagmites dripping like teeth.
i hoped this would wake you up
& you could tell of about
everything you dreamed in
those years at the bottom,
under everything. you don't stir.
i touch the remnants of your ribs,
take me with you
beautiful beautiful beautiful.